


Down Fresh Meadow Lane

by Ravenmaster



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Kid Fic, M/M, Parent Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Work In Progress, steve rogers also needs a hug, with fluff laced through though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenmaster/pseuds/Ravenmaster
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a single dad in his mid-thirties who lives a quiet, single dad life.And then Steve Rogers shows up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes at the end of the chapter for warnings about sensitive topics.
> 
> I really hope you'll like this! I'll have to say beforehand that this was self-beta'd, so if you spot an error, please feel free to point it out to me, I would appreciate it a lot.

“That one! I want that one.”

Becca pointed at the far corner of the ice cream display, then pressed her nose against the glass, almost shaking with excitement. Bucky did his best not to roll his eyes.

“You can have any flavor except for that one, bug. You don’t wanna know what kinda stuff they put into it to make it that blue. Ain’t natural,” he said, pointedly ignoring the annoyed look he got from the salesman - and, a moment later, also trying very much to ignore the kicked puppy look he got from his girl.

“But it’s made of _Smurfs_! That means it’s _only_ made of good stuff!”

Just looking down at her, Bucky found it hard to believe that she was five, and only just capable of reading the names of the flavors. With the way she was trying to play him, all big-eyed and pouty, it felt like she had been a weathered saleswoman for decades. “Because Smurfs are healthy?”

Becca tilted her head. “Did you ever get sick from eating Smurfs?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Then it’s healthy,” she resolutely decided, before pressing her nose back against the glass. “Mr. Ice Cream Man, may I have the Smurfs one?”

The man behind the register flashed her a sweet smile. “Sure can, kid. Do you want to make that one or two scoops?” he asked, because that sonofabitch knew how to play kids, and apparently he was just as good at ignoring Bucky staring daggers at him. Which, to be honest, was sorta impressive, with the leather jacket, the posture, and the fact that Bucky had taken the glove off his metal hand. 

But Becca was a clever kid. A very, very clever kid, who had learned very quickly to pick her battles with her dad. She’d won one, time to let one slip. “One,” she said, and after a moment of silence then hastily added: “Please, Mr. Sir.”

Mr. Sir, the ice cream man, didn’t seem too pleased with that, but Becca did, so Bucky didn’t give a shit as he paid for the cone and left. 

“So how was school today? Anything new?”

When Becca looked up, she had a smear of blue, sugary stickiness on her chin. “Yeah! We have a new teacher. He’s funny.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Funny, huh?” Sometimes he wondered if preschool teachers were more educators or entertainers. “What’s his name?”

“Dunno,” Becca shrugged, as a droplet of Smurf goo ran down the cone, dripping out on her fingers. “Forgot. He only said it once.”

Part of Bucky wanted to explain that it was rude to forget people’s names, but he knew that if memory skills was something that was passed down genetically, that she was probably lucky if she knew it by the end of the week. There were times where he just straight up forgot which apartment was his. “So, now he’s just Mr. Funny?”

“Yeah! Mr. Funny. And he looks like the prince from Shrek,” Becca said, as she took Bucky’s hand at the crossover. It was sticky, and a little cold, but put a smile to Bucky’s face anyway. 

“You know that the prince from Shrek is a meanie, right?”

“Yep. But you said he has a nice jaw. Mr. Funny has a nice jaw, too. And the hair. All…” She made a few wild gestures with her free hand. “... floppy.”

“All floppy,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Like yours! But your hair is longer. Way longer. I can’t braid Mr. Funny’s hair.”

Bucky wasn't even going to get into that, because knowing Becca, she had probably tried. “Sure thing, bug. Sounds like you like him, though.”

She licked her ice cream. “Yep.” And then, after a moment of contemplation: “I think you would too.”

\----

As it turned out, Mr. Funny Floppy Hair Guy was one of the committed types, the one who thought that putting on a show with the kids for the parents was fun. 

The Barneses weren't the theatre types.

“Do I have to go?” Becca whined, looking absolutely miserable in the paper maché mess that was supposed to be a butterfly costume. “Lucy’s parents are letting her stay at home because she has stay right.”

Bucky made a big effort not to look at her, because it had been a long day and he was too weak to deal with puppy eyes right now. “Stay right, huh?”

“I think it means that you have the right to stay at home.” Becca picked at her cardboard wings. “Why don't I have stay right?”

“I think that might be stage fright. Means you're scared to be on stage.”

She frowned. “Why is that scary?”

“Because then a lot of people will be watching you. That can be intimidating.”

Her face lit up with recognition at that. “You mean like you! But that means I can help her, right? Just have to hold her hand when she’s on the stage.”

Like him? Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “Why would you need to hold her hand?”

Becca frowned. “I also need to hold your hand when we cross a street. There are a lot of people there, too. Do you have stay right?”

Bucky was too weak _not_ to deal with big, blue puppy eyes right now. His little girl barely reached his hips, but she had the incredible power to make a lonely, asocial guy warm up like the fucking sun. “Not with you around, bug. Never with you around.”

\----

Bucky had thought that obnoxious parents and an outgrown theatre kid were going to be the worst part of his day.

How wrong he’d been.

“Unicorns or kittens?” he asked, while crossing the street. Becca started skipping to keep up with him, her cardboard wings flopping around on her back.

“Hmm… both?”

“The whole thing is that you gotta choose, sweetie.”

“Unicorns, then.” She hopped onto the pavement, and carefully avoided all cracks in the concrete. “Because they’re magical and can just use their magic to give me kittens.”

“Huh.” That kid was gonna be going places, thinking tactically like that. “Okay, next one. Pizza, or -”

The street fucking exploded.

Boom, just like that, in broad daylight, with chunks of concrete flying everywhere and the sound of the blast bouncing off of the building around them. All air was knocked out of his lungs immediately, as the force of the blast flung him back. Hard.

Hard enough for something to snap, because he didn't land on his head. Wasn't screaming, like the rest of them. His ears were ringing, yes, but it was as if time had slowed down. All the chaos and the tumult was happening around him, away from him, far, far away from where he’d landed on one knee. 

Far away from where Becca had landed on her back, in the middle of the road, between the rubble. 

Still. Unmoving.

Bucky had never been so fucking angry in his life.

Not in his army years. Not when he’d lost a fucking limb. Not when he’d realised that the PTSD was probably always going to be a worse handicap than said missing limb. This was one a whole different scale.

They had hurt his fucking baby.

It took a second, maybe two before he'd made it to her. Red smears covered the right side of her face. The self made wings were knacked and broken - and, most likely, her right arm too. She made a whimpering, sob like sound when Bucky tried to pick her up, anyway, before falling back into unconsciousness.

“It’s okay, baby.” His whisper was strange. Steady where it should be shaky. “I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be fine.”

“You need to move.”

Bucky whipped his head up, and next thing he knew, he had the man running up to him smashed against the nearest wall, hand closing on his throat. He barely had the focus to see who he was.

“Did you set off that bomb? Did you hurt my baby?” he growled.

The man blinked. “Bucky.”

Not the answer he was looking for. The metal hand squeezed tighter. “Did you. Set off. That bomb?!”

He said something, breathlessly. His eyes were wide, blue. Blond hair all ruffled. There was something on his face, something shocked…

But it wasn’t fear. How wasn't it fear? Surprise, more like it. Slowly, Bucky’s grip eased up, as something in the back of his mind started to push, ring alarms, scream. The man pulled his hand off of his throat, taking ragged breaths, and looked at him as if the world was flipped upside down.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bucky finally asked, but the man barely seemed to hear him. He was rubbing his throat, eyes flitting around constantly.

“You’re alive,” he muttered, again and again and again. There were strange tears in his even stranger blue outfit. He was bleeding, but didn't seem to care. “Oh my God.”

Like that was helping anything. Shop alarms were blaring around them, people were running, and his baby girl was lying two feet away, breathing so shallowly that it was eating Bucky alive. “How do you know me?!”

“Buck, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

He was sorry. 

The chaos stopped for just a second. Whoever he was, he was sorry. For as far as Bucky knew, there was only one thing to be sorry for. He had never seen so red with anger before.

This was the bombing motherfucker.

“Oh, you’ll be sorry, bitch.” And he punched him square in the face.

\----

“Yeah, he’s waking up. Thanks. We’ll take it from here.”

From what he could tell through his eyelashes, was the room dark, cold. It smelled metallic. Way too metallic. His head hurt like a bitch. A million alarm bells were going off in his head, but said head wasn’t clear enough to interpret them.

“State your name, please.” The voice was female. Not too kind, but not aggressive either. Disinterested at best. 

Strategic. Interrogation style. Best not to answer.

“Please state your name,” the woman repeated patiently. Bucky brought his hand up to his face, because it hurt - or tried to, at least, because he soon found out that his hands were cuffed behind his back. Hostile interrogation, then. 

There was a scoff from the other side of the room. “You can pretend to still be knocked out, but we have you monitored. You’re up, we know. Now be a gentleman and answer the question, alright?”

“How about you let me do the talking, hm?” the woman sneered. “I’ll repeat it one more time. State your name.”

Bucky slowly opened his mouth, and licked a few times to moisten it. “Who the fuck are you?” he finally rasped. 

From what he could see, the woman was a redhead, and had a smile like a fox. “I asked it first.”

Well, that one was simple. “None of your goddamned business.” Then, one of the alarms finally got through. He immediately stood up, regardless of his bound hands. “Where the goddamned fuck is Becca?”

The guy from the other side of the room stepped in. “Sir, please sit down.”

The foxy one shot him a look. “Shut your damn mouth, Jefferson. I can handle this.” Then she turned back to Bucky and gestured towards the chair. “Sit down and I’ll tell you where she is.”

Bucky was wearing his dad sweater. The one sweater he owned that made him look like a respectable single dad that chatted to other parents when he picked up his daughter, that baked cookies with her on Sunday mornings. But he felt like he was the furthest thing from that peaceful, harmless persona right now. “Or you tell me where she is and I won’t snap your neck.”

The redhead just smiled at him. “Trust me, you don’t wanna do that.”

“Romanoff, please. It’s clearly him, we should just detain him, right?” the guy in the corner whined. He was wearing a suit. A goddamned suit, as if he was a fucking fed. He was next on the list. First the redhead, then this guy.

Romanoff, however had other ideas. “Can you confirm that you’re James Buchanan Barnes?” she simply asked.

Three seconds passed. Three seconds in which Bucky had had her death planned in at least twenty different ways, before finally deciding that it didn’t matter anyway if they knew his name. He’d done nothing wrong. He had been honorably discharged from the army, had done nothing wrong after that, and there was nothing they could do to him. 

“Yes, I can.”

A toxic smile appeared on Romanoff’s face. “Thank you. She’s at Steve Roger’s place.” She stood up from the other side of the desk, released his bounds with the click of a button on the desk, and opened the door to an awfully bright hallway. “Thank you for your time.”

\----

Rogers was disgustingly easy to track down, really. So easy, that Bucky barely realised he was doing it, until he suddenly found himself at the doorstep of his apartment, ringing the bell. Because he was a gentleman. And because he didn’t want to scare off his girl by kicking in the window, like he actually planned on doing first. He wasn’t an idiot; Steve Rogers was the bomber. A fucking terrorist, in Bucky’s book, even if all the Google results showed pictures of a so-called hero.

But it wasn’t Rogers who opened the door. It was some dark-skinned guy who looked severely pissed off.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m armed and ready to fuck you up if you try anything,” he said, giving Bucky a once-over. Like he was the real threat in here. 

Bucky simply offered him a smile, as the same overwhelming rage as before started to rise up again. He hadn’t even known he had this side to himself, and yet here he was, imagining at least twenty ways he could crush the guy’s head like a grape. “You know what?” He held the side of the door with his flesh hand, and flashed him a smile. “You give me my baby back and you live to tell the tale, how generous would that be?”

The bastard had the guts to scoff. Bucky felt the rage flare up harder, way harder, beyond what he was used to. He was by no means a peace loving hippie, but the anger he resolved at the gym when he had a day off and Becca was at school, had nothing on the fire he felt now.

So he kicked the door in and shoved the punk against the wall before his fingers could even grasp his stupid little gun.

“Ow, Buck,” he groaned, or it might’ve been 'fuck’. Didn't matter. The fucker was dead to him.

“Bucky.”

Arm against the back of his skull: the metal one, and just a bit more pressure -

“Buck.”

And it would pop right off -

“Daddy!”

Becca.

Bucky’s head snapped around. Becca was standing across the hallway, in ducky pajamas and braids, with a cast and a sling around one arm and Steve fucking Rogers’ hand around the other. Her eyes were big. Open. Shocked. Her face was pale.

Worse: she was hiding behind Rogers.

“Hey, bug,” he started, slowly, as he let the guy from before go. He turned towards her and knelt to her level, still shaking with the adrenaline. “Are you okay?”

There was an unexpected silence. He had thought that at least one of these idiots would try to answer for her, but they both wisely shut their cake holes. Becca, for her part, just hid even more behind Rogers.

Bucky felt his heart sink to his toes. “I’m sorry I yelled, sweetie. I was worried sick about you.” He offered her a smile and slowly spread his arms with a rapidly beating heart. “Do you wanna come here?”

“Are you kidding me?” the man he had nearly squished rasped. “That’s the least safe thing I’ve ever -”

Surprisingly, it was Rogers who cut in. “No, it’s okay. It’s okay, Becca.” He let go of her hand, but was wise enough not to hold onto her shoulder. Smart man.

Becca looked a little lost at first, then took a tentative step forward. Bucky felt like crying. “It’s okay, I’m never going to hurt you, baby. It’s fine.”

She hesitated just a moment, before making a run for it and torpedoing right into his arms, clutching him tightly. “I missed you.”

She smelled of home. Bucky automatically held her a little tighter. “Missed you too, bug.”

He felt her face press against the side of his neck, and slowly but surely, something in his chest started to unwind. Becca was okay. Becca was okay. Becca was okay.

It took him about five full minutes of holding her just like that for the idea to start to sink in. Becca was okay.

“Bucky, I think we need to talk.”

Very slowly, very carefully, Bucky extracted himself from his daughter’s embrace, ignoring the screaming instincts in the back of his mind that told him that he should never let her go again, not after all this. There were loose ends, here, and after all, the safest thing would be to tie those up.

Or something like that. Didn’t matter. Steve Rogers was _right there_ , and he _hurt his baby_. Bucky felt the plates of his metal arm realign themselves without any conscious effort.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said, so calm that he almost scared himself. The feeling that this wasn’t a normal fatherhood instinct was slowly starting to creep in - if it was, then wouldn’t every single assaulter be murdered by their victim’s dad?

Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t ri-

Irrelevant. Rogers needed to be taken out. Clean. Simple. Later was the time to question how he knew how to do that.

“Trust me,” said that animal. “Talking is _very_ necessary.”

The plates shifted again as Bucky balled his fist and clenched his jaw. “You know, the military trained me to take out terrorists _on sight_.”

“No, they trained you to take out Nazis,” Rogers said. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, born in 1917, and you served in World War Two.”

Something in the corners of Bucky’s vision started to waver, blur, just slightly. “Oh, bullshit. Shut up.”

“And you know me,” he went on. “You’ve always known me. I knew Becca, too.”

Bucky’s gaze quickly flicked down. Becca was clutching the leg of his pants, staring up with the Big Blue Puppy Look - except that this time, there was less persuasion there than fear. “What do you mean?”

Rogers looked at her, smiled at her. “Not her. Why did you pick that name?”

Subconsciously, Bucky stepped in front of her, to block Rogers’ view. “I just did. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Shut up.”

“Becca was your baby sister,” he pushed on, pushed on, pushed on. This hallway was way too narrow. “Ten when you shipped out.”

Bucky felt his breath starting to come shorter and shorter, as something nagging at the back of his mind began to get louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and louder -

He only realized he’d staggered back against the wall when Becca jumped away with a high pitched shriek. His vision was blotchy. The world felt tilted. 

His name was Bucky Barnes. Veteran. Honorably discharged. Lived in Russia, met Irina, had Becca, lost Irina, moved to the United States. His name was Bucky. His name was Bucky.

He was fine, he was normal, he was sane.

His name was Bucky.

His name was Bucky.

His name.

His name.

His.

He.

\----

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Awake. Awake, on the floor, cramped hallway, two frowny faces - one crying one. God, the world was spinning so _hard_.

“‘M okay, bug,” Bucky slurred out. Something tugged at his arm, harder, harder, and when he opened his eyes again after he realized he’d shut them, he was laid down on something soft, with his head on a pillow. “Don’t touch me.”

But Rogers turned out to be a bad listener. There were still fingers combing through his hair that were too large, too harsh to be Becca’s. “Just breathe, okay? I get that this can be a lot, probably. Trust me, it’s overwhelming for me, too.”

Bucky gathered his strength for a good ten seconds, before he finally shot his metal hand up and got Steve’s hand in a crushing grip. “Don’t touch me.”

When he forced himself to open his eyes, Rogers had the audacity to look hurt. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

And something about that look - something about that _tone_ \- 

They were all flashes of the same face that started to come up, skinny as hell, almost feminine with those cheekbones and the long lashes, flashes of scrapes along his skin and a black shiner covering up a bright blue eye. Split lip, bleeding nose. Toughest porcelain out there.

No, fuck. Bucky blinked, before lifting his hand and hitting down on his head, hard. “Not real, not real, not real, not real, not real -”

Steve caught his hand mid-hit, effectively stopping it from moving, somehow. “Don’t.”

“Let me the fuck go!”

“You’re scaring Becca.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up. Becca was still standing in the doorway, shaking, sniffling, looking so tiny in her cast and her PJ’s. The door guy was behind her, making subtle ‘calm down’ gestures at him.

Fuck. He was officially a bad father.

Slowly, he tried to sit up, only to realize that his pillow had been Steve’s - no, _Rogers’s_ thighs. He jabbed his elbow right next to the bone a little firmer. “Hey, Bec. Daddy’s not feeling well, okay? I’m going to be okay, though - like when you had that ear infection.”

She didn’t buy it. She was more clever than that. “You’re hurting Steve, Daddy.”

Bucky finally moved to look up at Rogers, and found his face distorted in a “this hurts like shit but I refuse to give in to it” look, that tugged at something in the back of Bucky’s mind as deeply, deeply familiar.

Except it couldn’t be, because he barely knew this guy beyond Google results. And childish as it were, Bucky had to admit that he kind of enjoyed that look on his face.

But Becca didn’t, so he slowly moved his elbow away from his thigh, and tried not to snarl when he saw how relieved Rogers looked. “Sorry, bug. I didn’t notice.”

“Jerk,” Rogers muttered under his breath.

“Punk,” Bucky quietly spat back. Rogers froze.

Then the door guy cleared his throat. “Right, okay. So. Anyone want some coffee, or something?”

“Go to hell,” Bucky said, but not really, because his baby was in the room, so it came out as “no, thanks”. Steve - no, _Rogers_ , just nodded.

“I make a mean hot chocolate too,” he added, aimed at Becca. She shook her head. Clever girl.

“Hey, bug, wanna come sit here? I know it’s all a bit weird, but we’re gonna go home soon, okay? But first I really need to know how you came here.”

Becca hesitated for a little bit (and Bucky was pretty sure it crushed him more than almost cracking his skull open against the wall did), but then hesitantly walked over to sit with him on the little space that was left on the couch. Immediately, Bucky pushed himself up to sit upright again, ignored the black spots dancing in his vision, and used his flesh hand to rub circles over her back.

“Steve and Sam picked me up when I was in the hospital,” she mumbled. “They didn’t know our password, so I called another adult like you told me to, but the nurse said it was okay.”

Bucky resisted the urge to punch Rogers in the dick. “What the hell did you say to that nurse?”

“He didn’t have to,” door guy - Sam - called out from the kitchen. “Come on, even with all that amnesia or if you’re a clone or something, you gotta have heard of Captain America, right? People tend to give national heroes what they want.”

Steve, in turn, looked appropriately ashamed. “Sorry, Buck. I only told them that you weren’t available, and I didn’t wanna leave her alone. And I really needed to talk to you.”

But Bucky just wrapped his good arm around his daughter and held her closer. “Did they hurt you, Becca? You can be honest.”

It barely took a second for her to shake her head, but within that second, all of the plates of Bucky’s arm had realigned to punch right through Rogers’s chest and rip his heart out. “No, they told me you would come pick me up later and we watched the Minions movie together. And we talked about the bomb and that it was bad guys who did that, and we talked about my arm and that it will be fifty days until it’s better again. That does hurt a bit.” She shuffled her foot on the floor and picked at her cast. “And other things, but I promised we wouldn’t tell you.”

Bucky took three deep breaths, steadied himself, and cleared his throat. “What things?”

Deafening silence. 

Oh, boy.

They touched her. Those fucking monsters, they’d touched her, they’d hurt her, they’d -

“We drank cola,” Becca whispered. “I only had a little bit, though. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

It felt like a thousand bricks had been lifted off of his shoulders. Cola. “Oh. You don’t have to feel guilty about that, okay? You can tell me anything.”

Becca said nothing, but she did lean her head against his chest. The burning hatred Bucky had felt just moments before, shrunk back into a small, loving flame of warmth again. 

“Speaking of telling you anything,” Rogers muttered, “Becca, I think I need to talk to your dad for a bit.”

Bucky froze.

“Okay,” said Becca.

Rogers waited for a few moments, before putting on his best camera smile. “You know what? I think Sam can help you set up Winx club on the TV in the guest room. Would you like that?”

Becca perked up, clearly excited, but then she turned around at Bucky. “I’m not supposed to watch TV after dinner,” she said, face torn between excitement and apprehension. “Daddy, can I?”

 _No, because if you go, this punk is gonna try and brainwash me_ , Bucky thought, but there was something about Rogers’s face that told him that he was gonna do it anyway, whether Becca was there or not. Plus, he had a gut feeling that that nagging in the back of his head wasn’t going to disappear by itself. “Sure. Just this once, though, because you hurt your arm, and it was a weird day.”

The smile he got from that was strikingly bright, considering her arm was in a cast, and she practically skipped down the hallway. Sam quickly followed after her, with a pot of fresh coffee in his hands.

“So,” began Rogers - Steve - no, _Rogers_. They were sitting next to each other now, too close for comfort, too far apart to be having this conversation, to be honest. “This is kinda surreal.”

Bucky refused to look at him, refused to feel the knot in his stomach as he folded his arms over each other. His name was Bucky. He was sane. He was normal. “You can say that again.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “Thought you died, Buck.”

The back of his mind screamed. Bucky mentally screamed back to shut the hell up. “I don’t know you.”

“We served together.”

Bucky breathed. He smelled mud, gunpowder, black instant coffee. “No.”

“You fell off a train.”

Screaming in his head, louder, louder - “No.”

“We used to live together.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit - “No!”

“We were best friends -”

“No!” Bucky elbowed Steve so hard in the stomach that he doubled over. “Shut up! I’m _normal_ , I’m _sane_ , and you’re talking nonsense, so stop!”

Steve coughed a couple of times, and choked on the last one. “I- _wow_ , you’re strong. Look, Buck, I don’t know what happened to you, but I promise I’m just trying to help. I mean, _my_ mind is still reeling from this. Twenty therapy sessions spent on your death, and you’re alive? I think I’m gonna need twenty more.”

This was just another dream, Bucky decided, not even listening. Just another one of those dreams of the guy with the deep voice and the creaking wooden floors, of war and screaming and the taste of blood in his mouth. The kind of dream he would wake up from soon enough, then go to the gym, beat up some poor leather bag, and move on. This wasn’t real.

“You got the wrong guy,” he simply said, suddenly standing up. His head hurt. His baby was hurt. He just needed to go the fuck back home. “I was born in 1984, pal. I served in Afghanistan, not World War Two, and I never fell off any damn train. Maybe I just have one of those faces.” He turned to Steve to offer him an apologetic smile, but he couldn’t really make the corners of his mouth twist that way. Then, he called out: “Becca! We’re going!”

“Where were you born?”

Bucky turned around. Steve just looked at him, expectantly. “Excuse me?”

“Who are your parents? Are you still in contact with them? When did you join the army? When were you sent out? How many tours did you serve? How did you get that arm?” Steve rattled on, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “If I’ve got the wrong guy, I’d like to know who _you_ are, because you are just strikingly similar to my Buck.”

Bucky slowly felt a throbbing headache set in. “We just share a name and apparently a face, let it the fuck go.”

But Steve wouldn’t budge. “Answer the questions and I’ll shut up.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Bucky ran his flesh hand through his hair; it was shaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve replied, not at all phased by that. “Why?”

And that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? And one that Bucky had been so good at avoiding for the past seven years - because things were good now. He used to be married, he had a kid, he had a job, he was happy.

He was fine.

He was sane.

He was normal.

This was the Bucky that he wanted to be, and he wasn’t sure that he could say the same about the person he was before.

So, he made another attempt at a smile. “Honestly? I don’t care.”

He felt a small hand hold onto his flesh one and looked down. Becca had her jacket on over her pajamas and cast, and even her dust-covered shoes were on and tied. “Are we going?”

“Yeah, bug, we’re done.”

So he walked her out of the apartment, without so much as a look toward either Steve or Sam - and when he closed the door behind him, he really, honestly hoped that that would be the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sensitive materials:
> 
> There is a bombing, in which Bucky's child gets hurt. Also a warning for canon-typical violence, very vague/referenced thoughts of child abuse/molestation (which didn't happen, Bucky is just paranoid) and some mentions of/references to war.
> 
> Please feel free to let me know if you liked it! My plan is to update soon - I've got the next chapter finished already, and the storyline pretty much worked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one got a bit dark. I promise there's more fluffy and sweet bits in future chapters, Bucky's life is just kind of, y'know, falling apart right now.
> 
> My goal is to publish one chapter every week, by the way, around Sunday/Monday. So, stay tuned? And please drop by in the comments - or if you found a mistake somewhere, since it's all self-beta'd, and corrections would be very much appreciated.
> 
> Content warnings at the end (aka reasons why this was upped to a Mature rating).

It wasn’t the end of it.

For the following days, the bombing on Fresh Meadow Lane was all the entirety of Queens could talk about, it seemed like. Even though the news had said that there had been no fatalities, it seemed like everywhere Bucky looked on the way to school, the gym, to work, were people with fresh scratches on their faces, broken limbs, bandages in places where you’d never see them. The amount of strangers that walked up to Becca to tell her that she was brave was honestly astounding.

They were New Yorkers, after all. Talking to strangers just didn’t happen.

“Do you think I’m brave?” Becca asked, as they walked away from Old Lady #3 who’d given her the sad, sympathetic words of support. Bucky ruffled her hair.

“Of course you are. Have you seen that cast? You’re a superhero now!”

Becca’s face lit up. “Like Steve!”

Bucky ignored the twist of his stomach, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, like Steve.”

Suddenly, Becca stopped, right before turning around the corner, with a frown on her face. “Daddy?”

Bucky knew better than to worry. No, wait, correct that: Bucky knew better than to _show_ that he was worried. “What’s up?”

“I don’t wanna walk that way.”

Oh. Of course; the bombing site was just one block away, _of course_ she wouldn’t want to walk that way. Becca was the toughest cookie he knew, that was for sure, but she was also five, hurt, and scared.

But Bucky just knew that that fear would only get worse if you gave in to it. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time, okay?”

Becca’s face went from apprehensive to downright shocked. “No! Nononono, please, no!”

Something dark and cold gripped Bucky’s heart and squeezed hard, but he breathed through it. “Trust me, Becca, you’ll only be more scared if we -”

“No!” Her lips were twitching, wobbling, and Bucky could see the exact moment where the tears started to build. She tried to yank her hand loose, as her breathing started to get erratic. “No! I don’t want to! Let me go, I don’t want to!”

There were a few things that never failed to make Bucky feel like the worst dad on earth: being late to pick her up at school and make her feel like he’d forgotten her; whenever she asked why she didn’t have a mom, when all the other kids in her class did; and, the worst case, when she was scared and he was the reason why.

That last thing had happened a little too often for his tastes lately. “Okay, baby. Okay, we don’t have to go there, alright? It’s okay.” He squatted down and wiped the tears from her face with his thumb,  
before pulling her close to his chest and hooking his chin over her shoulder. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

It took about two full minutes before the crying stopped, and even then, her breathing still came in little hiccups, and she kept sniffling. And fuck, she was so _small._

This was ridiculous.

She was five, and she’d been through a bombing. Something that fucked up the toughest men and women that served overseas, something that sent them home and straight into high intensity therapy, and here they were, on their way to school just a day later, like nothing had happened. He really was a bad dad.

“You know what?” Bucky muttered to her. “D’you wanna build a blanket fort?”

When he pulled back enough to look at her, her eyes were red and puffy. “Yeah?” she asked tentatively, accompanied by another hiccup. “Can we?”

“Yeah. School can wait another day, huh?”

There was a careful smile on Becca’s face, like the first few rays of sun breaking through a thick blanket of clouds. “Yeah.”

\----

It had been his intention to talk about it, it really had been. Somehow, though, they had ended up in a fort that took up half the living room, watching two movies in a row, and having store-bought apple pie for dinner (plus a carrot, so he could sell to himself that he was at least getting _something _healthy in her). There was no talking, just jokes, pillow fights, cuddles and a bunch of drawings stuck to his metal arm with Winnie the Poo fridge magnets.__

__It had been a happy day, though, and that was what counted. That’s what Bucky told himself as he broke down the fort at nine in the evening, with Becca fast asleep on a couple of pillows on the floor. That’s what he repeated over and over to push the guilt down as he remade her bed, carefully carried her upstairs and tucked her in. Wasn’t that what it was all about? That she was happy?_ _

__Her breathing was quiet and constant as he watched her, just for a bit, with the four stickman figure drawings still stuck to his arm. Ten minutes went by, just like that, standing in that room and pondering the question._ _

__It wasn’t what it was all about. He was letting her turn away from this because that was what he did._ _

__God, he was so fucked._ _

__Bucky almost felt physically sick as he dragged himself downstairs again. Picked up his laptop. Opened Google._ _

__Typed in “James Buchanan Barnes”._ _

__The first result was a Wikipedia page, that Bucky quickly scrolled past. That was too much. He was here to take a look at his own bombed street, not run around naked in it._ _

__The rest of the results varied. One was a museum page. There were a couple of Captain America blogs. History websites. Those by themselves looked like a fair mixture of the actual Barnes version and the former president, which somehow felt like a relief; at least his name seemed to be unknown enough to not push the original James Buchanan away. It was just the fanatics that referred to Steve’s old friend._ _

__His cursor hovered over each page for a few seconds, but he couldn’t bring his thumb to click._ _

__Finally, he scrolled back up (quickly enough to catch nothing of the Wikipedia page), and clicked on images._ _

__And caused himself a fucking heart attack._ _

__Because that was his face. It was a black and white picture that came up, several times in different sizes, but surprisingly distinguishable, despite its age. There was a group of soldiers, with Steve Rogers in the middle, and a guy with his face next to him. Just somewhat shorter, lankier, with short hair and skin that was grimy as hell. Staring at Steve as if he were some sort of movie star._ _

__Part of him was tempted to see if he could imagine himself in those shoes. If he could remember it._ _

__A bigger part of him felt terrified just thinking about it. He guessed that that was the part that pushed his laptop off the couch in a panic and broke the screen. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.”_ _

__Yeah, that felt like an accurate description._ _

__\----_ _

__“Got your lunchbox? Book bag? Head screwed on properly?”_ _

__Becca laughed at that. Bless her. “Yeah!”_ _

__“Right.” Bucky pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and then blew one at her cast. “Then go-go-go, we’re late today. Tell Mr. Floppy Hair I’m sorry! Have fun!”_ _

__He was pretty sure that she hadn’t heard that last part anymore, because the doors had fallen shut behind her, but that was okay. Tomorrow they’d just have to leave ten minutes earlier if they wanted to avoid The Street. No problem._ _

__“Oh my goodness, I’m so glad I’m not the only one who’s late. Always makes me feel like a terrible mom.”_ _

__There was a blonde woman about six feet away from him, breathing heavily, and pressing a hand against her side. Mid-thirties, probably. Freckles on her nose. Very housewifey._ _

__Bucky put on his best I’m-not-a-scary-dude smile and shoved his metal hand deep in the pocket of his jeans. Maybe it was about time that he became that weird dude that always wore gloves, or something. “Yeah, we had to take a detour.”_ _

__The panting woman raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Bad traffic?”_ _

__“Oh, no.” Bucky wanted to wave it away, but quickly reminded himself that it might be better not to move his hands at the moment. “We walked. That bombed street is just still broken up, y’know?”_ _

__Something seemed to click in the woman’s face. “ _Oh._ Right.”_ _

__“Right.”_ _

__Then, she smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Annabelle, by the way. My son goes here. He’s already inside.”_ _

__“Oh, okay.” Bucky had a strong feeling that that wasn’t true - he would’ve seen him, after all - but the way Annabelle tucked her hair behind her ears told him enough about _why_ she would lie about that. Even if it was the weirdest flirty lie he’d ever heard._ _

__Oh, he really needed to go._ _

__“So,” she continued. “I know that this might sound a little bit bold, but would you like to go for a coffee or something?” She batted her eyelashes a few times, and smiled. “I know I could use one after a rushed morning like this one.”_ _

__Bucky swallowed. There was just _something_ off. Why would she lie about her kid being late? Why would she still be here if her child was on time? Why would she be here if she didn’t have a child at all?_ _

__Annabelle’s smile wavered as seconds ticked by. “Well?”_ _

__A chilling feeling snuck up to Bucky, like some icy monster gently licking the back of his neck. “Actually, I’ve got to go to work,” he replied, setting one foot back as an experiment -_ _

__And jumping away just quickly enough to miss Annabelle’s fist aimed at his temple._ _

__The rest of it was a bit of a blur, with hits and kicks coming from all directions, so quickly that Bucky barely knew how to keep up with them - but still, shockingly enough, managing to. It almost felt superhuman, almost instinctive to a point where a sickening gut feeling told him that no World War Two soldier would’ve been taught this kind of hand to hand combat. His body was doing this out of reflex, and he sure as hell hadn’t _consciously_ been practicing martial arts._ _

__“Who the fuck are you?” he grunted out, dodging a well aimed kick. “What do you want?”_ _

__“SHIELD wants you,” Annabelle gritted out, and something in her face flickered - but literally, _flickered._ Like her whole face had an error, or something. His mind was taken off of it when she suddenly slid underneath him, through the gap between his legs, jumped up and managed to wrap her legs around his neck._ _

__Panic started building. Fuck. _Fuck._ He was fucked, he’d lost, he was -_ _

__Falling, actually._ _

__Annabelle jumped off in time to save herself, but Bucky felt his head fall hard against the concrete, his vision starting to blur as he felt some needle being pulled from his shoulder._ _

__“Sorry,” he heard her husky voice say. He blinked once, and the blonde hair had disappeared; instead, an achingly familiar redhead was frowning down at him. “I would’ve preferred to just drug your coffee too.”_ _

__\----_ _

__“We’ve gotta stop meeting under these circumstances.”_ _

__Now, if the last time around his head hurt like a bitch, then this time around, his head hurt like a _bag_ of bitches. Bucky was pretty sure that there were bandages wrapped around him as well. For one moment, he tried to open his eyes, before flinching and squeezing them shut again._ _

__“Jefferson, turn the lights down.” That was redhead. Definitely._ _

__Someone - probably Jefferson, the suit guy - scoffed. “Do it yourself.”_ _

__He was met by complete silence, after thirty seconds of which the lights seemed to dim behind Bucky’s eyelids. Slowly, he opened them again; better._ _

__He gently tried to move his hands. Bound again. Sweet. Great._ _

__Romanoff was sitting across from, with the suit guy once again in the corner - right next to the light dimmer, Bucky noted. Hah._ _

__“Sorry about earlier,” Romanoff started casually. “How’s your head?”_ _

__“Fabulous,” Bucky gritted out._ _

__She offered him a small smile. “Good. There are a few things that we need to discuss.”_ _

__Bucky pushed down a wave of nausea that his headache supplied. “Well, better make it quick. I want that America Man and his boyfriend nowhere near my daughter again, and she needs to be picked up in - what time is it?”_ _

__Jefferson cleared his throat. “That’s classified.”_ _

__Romanoff stared at a blank spot on the wall. Bucky just raised one eyebrow. “You realize she hates your guts, right? I kind of get why.”_ _

__“Watch it,” Jefferson snarled. “You’re kind of mouthy for someone who’s looking at a life sentence in fucking Guantanamo Bay.”_ _

__Wait. _What?!__ _

__“Jefferson,” Romanoff hissed, “get out. _Now._ ”_ _

__Bucky felt his head throb. Jefferson hesitated, but after a short staring contest, he opened the door to a way too bright hallway and disappeared._ _

__Just like Bucky would, if he went to Guantanamo - what would happen to Becca? He needed to go, he needed to leave - maybe move back to Russia, or some place in South Africa, where they wouldn’t find them - start all over, change their names, he could dye his hair, cut it all off -_ _

__“You’re hyperventilating,” Romanoff pointed out. “Relax.”_ _

__As much as he’d wanted to kill people over the past few days, Bucky had never felt so murderous as he did when she told him to fucking _relax.__ _

__“I mean it,” she went on. “Listen, James - we’re the people that are trying to _prevent_ something like that from happening, okay? We’re on your side here, but we need your cooperation for that.”_ _

__Yeah, right. Still, Bucky made an effort to even out his breathing again. “Y’know, it’d help a lot if I knew what this was about,” he finally said, his voice still breathy, but at least it was recognizable._ _

__Romanoff simply folded her hands together, her expression completely unreadable. “Well, you were presumed dead for over seventy years, and yet here you are, like you haven’t aged a day. Add that to the fact that you and Cap had a close bond, and you can imagine that we’re a little bit… alarmed, to say the least.”_ _

__Bucky swallowed down the cold feeling of dread he felt creeping up at her words. “I’m not that Bucky Barnes.”_ _

__Romanoff just raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think even you believe that.”_ _

__Bucky tried to give another tug at his bounds. “Being pals with Captain America doesn’t sound like a criminal offense, though.”_ _

__At that, Romanoff cleared her throat and sat back in her chair a little, not looking at him directly. “You’re right. It’s just a bit unfortunate that you’re also a complete match with every description, picture and footage we have of a Soviet assassin that has seventy-three documented murders on his name.”_ _

__Oh._ _

__Well, that was one thing that didn’t show up on the Google results, some distant part of his brain supplied. The rest was inactive, shut down, unavailable._ _

__“You’re joking,” he said. “That’s not real.”_ _

__She said nothing, just looked at him. For a minute, a full blown minute and then some, until Bucky felt his chest tighten and his good hand shake. His ears were ringing._ _

__“You’re lying,” he pushed on, because of all possible options, that one just seemed too out of it to be true. “You’re messing with me.”_ _

__She took a deep breath and tapped her nails against the surface of the table a few times before muttering “sorry Steve, he needs to see” under her breath. Then she reached into her pocket, and took some device out that she placed on the table. With one press of the button, some hologram popped up. A video._ _

__The images were blurry, clearly shot by a surveillance camera, but still recognizable enough. It was pointed at a convenience store, where a woman in a blouse with puffy sleeves and even puffier hair walked in. Somewhere in the eighties, then. Bucky felt his stomach twist a bit in anticipation._ _

__It only took a few seconds for a second person to come in. He had his back to the camera, but Bucky felt a shock go through him anyway; the way the bare metal of his arm reflected the light was unmistakable. He carried a knife, walked with purpose._ _

__The image fast forwarded. The figure walked out, masked, his eyes darkened - and his knife bloodied. There was a lump in Bucky’s throat that he just couldn’t swallow away._ _

__“Turn that off,” he rasped. “Please.”_ _

__But Romanoff just switched to the next one. The same man, the same arm, cracking open the skull of some man against a brick wall, who screamed and screamed right up until he didn’t._ _

__Next video. Another man, older this time. Shot point blank._ _

__Next video. A woman, fighting back, trying to somehow wrestle herself loose from his grip. Gutted._ _

__Next video. Someone short, on their knees with their back to the camera, grabbed by the hair. Beheaded._ _

__Bucky’s ears were buzzing. He expected a next video, at this point; he expected the torture to never stop, but instead, this one kept playing, as the blood gushed out of the freshly debodied head. Bucky tried to look away; somehow, he couldn’t manage it._ _

__Then the man looked directly at him, through the screen, and slowly turned around the head to show its face to the camera._ _

__Bucky threw up._ _

__“Easy,” Romanoff said, somewhere distant. “Breathe, James.”_ _

__“That’s a child,” he slurred, before gagging again. “That’s a baby. That’s a child.”_ _

__“I need you to breathe,” she said again. Uselessly._ _

__Bucky tried to open his eyes, before almost falling off his chair, so he just went back to breathing in and out through his nose. This wasn’t true. Not real. Just a very horrific nightmare -_ _

__Except that that night with Steve Rogers hadn’t been a nightmare either._ _

__Bucky felt his empty stomach twist again, but it had no success. It just hurt._ _

__“I get that this is a lot to take in,” Romanoff said, but the words barely registered. After that, there were a bunch of other words, but none of them stuck._ _

__He had killed a child._ _

__Maybe he’d killed more children. Seventy-three documented cases. Who knew how many there were off the record. That was him. This was the answer to the million dollar question._ _

__Bucky was at a point where he wished he could physically be sick again, because at least it distracted from the screaming in his head. Flashes of things. Images? Were those real, or was he making it up? Was this what he feared he did, or things he actually did? He struggled against the bounds; he needed to pull his hair, claw at his neck, get anything to distract him, anything to focus on -_ _

__Hands. There were hands, on the side of his head. Subconsciously, Bucky expected a knee in the face, but nothing came; just strokes, touches, soothing sounds._ _

__A voice. Deep voice. Deeper dan Romanoff’s; male._ _

__“Steve,” he mumbled, as he dropped his head against something solid and warm. It was aching. He was aching. “I remember.”_ _

__A warm hand rubbed over the back of his neck. “I know,” Steve said. “‘M sorry.”_ _

__Bucky felt his chest spasm as he started to sob. “Fuck.”_ _

__“I know,” Steve repeated, his voice strained. “I know.”_ _

__\----_ _

__First, there was the panic. The reacting. The vomiting, the shaking, the hyperventilating. Crying. Struggling. Trying, _trying_ , to somehow crawl back, back in time, undo all of it, rewind the videos in his memory and never play them again -_ _

__And then, snap, that was all gone. There was just silence._ _

__Complete fucking silence, as he just remembered. Remembered from far away, a safe distance, untouchable. The pain. The cold. Pain, cold, pain, cold, pain, cold. Over and over and over, that was it._ _

__No imagery, no details, nothing. Just pain. Just cold. Endless, excruciating pain that he couldn’t feel - freezing, murdering cold that he couldn’t sense._ _

__Steve was moving him. He saw that too. Couldn’t feel it._ _

__They were in a different room, now, a brighter one, vomit free. No idea where the room was. No idea where he’d walked._ _

__“Bucky,” said Steve’s voice. “Buck?”_ _

__Bucky couldn’t find his voice, or his mouth, or his face._ _

__“Buck,” Steve repeated. “You okay?”_ _

__He heard a grunting noise. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was his own._ _

__“Sorry about your head. The bandages look more dramatic than it is - the doctors said you have no concussion, but you still cut your head on the ground, somehow.”_ _

__There was a hand touching the back of his neck again. Same spot that the kid got the knife sliced through his body. Someone’s baby. Killed by him._ _

__“I told Natasha not to show you those.”_ _

__Bucky found his eyes again, and blinked. “But she did,” he rasped._ _

__“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat, and wiped the hand that wasn’t on Bucky’s neck on his trouser leg. “She did.”_ _

__“How -” Bucky cleared his throat. Again. And again. “How old…”_ _

__Steve didn’t reply. Bucky took a shaky breath, then twisted around and punched his metal hand straight through the brick wall._ _

__“Buck,” Steve muttered softly._ _

__“He was a _kid._ I- I don’t even fucking remember him!”_ _

__Steve moved, or maybe he didn’t - Bucky wasn’t looking at him and he didn’t care. “Look, Buck, I understand what you’re -”_ _

__That did make Bucky whip his head around. In an instant, he was right up in Steve’s face. “No, you have no fucking idea. You don’t have the right, because _I_ don’t even know what I’m going through right now.”_ _

__Steve had the decency to look shocked, at least. Not scared, just - a bit overwhelmed, maybe._ _

__Bucky felt the same way. Fuck, this was messed up. “Where’s Becca?” he finally muttered, voice breaking halfway through. “I thought she’d be with you.”_ _

__“It’s only eleven thirty. She’s still at school.”_ _

__Bucky did a deep exhale. “She needs to be picked up at three.”_ _

__Steve nodded. “Okay, yeah. Sam’ll be there.”_ _

__“Right.” He cleared his throat. “The - the password is tomatoes.”_ _

__Steve frowned. “Excuse me?”_ _

__“When he picks her up. We have a password system when I can’t make it, so she knows that whoever picks her up is safe. The password is tomatoes.”_ _

__Steve blinked a couple of times. “Right- yeah, yeah. I’ll text him that.”_ _

__There was a restlessness in Bucky’s chest that he couldn’t rationalize beyond the fact that this was fucking insane. He started pacing, from one wall to the other and back. “Steve,” he said, eventually, “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”_ _

__Steve just looked at him. “Neither do we.”_ _

__Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. “We,” he repeated. “Who’s we?”_ _

__“Me,” Steve corrected, but when Bucky squinted at him, he looked away. “And SHIELD. Look, it’s complicated.”_ _

__“You can say that again.”_ _

__There was a beat of silence. “It’s complicated,” Steve repeated._ _

__Motherfucker. His face betrayed nothing, but there was a completely inappropriate glint in his eye nevertheless._ _

__“You think you’re so clever.”_ _

__Steve just put his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “I said nothing of the sort.”_ _

__He kept looking at Bucky, expectantly, like something else was about to happen, but Bucky couldn’t for the love of him figure out what._ _

__“Why are you here?” he finally asked. “I know there are at least four cameras in this room, so there are eyes on me anyway, and if you’re here to stop me from doing stupid shit, well…” He looked at the hole in the wall. “You stink at your job.”_ _

__Steve smiled all the way through the insult. “Just can’t believe you’re here.”_ _

__A sickening pang of guilt stacked nicely onto the heap of it that was already there. “What do you mean?”_ _

__Steve thought about it. Then, he shook his head. “Nothing. Happy to see you’re alive, that’s all.”_ _

__“Right.” Bucky cleared his throat. “But that’s it.”_ _

__Steve frowned. “What’s it?”_ _

__“I’m alive.” And he was back to pacing again. “Look, I don’t really know what to make of all this, because it just feels like a really, really bad dream, but what I do know is that I have no clue about you. All I know about you, comes straight from Google. I don’t remember you, I don’t _know_ you.”_ _

__Steve said nothing. Bucky couldn’t find the guts to look at him._ _

__“Besides,” he added, “you don’t know me either.”_ _

__“I do,” Steve immediately interjected. “Come on, try me.”_ _

__“Fine. What’s my favorite color?”_ _

__“Blue.”_ _

__“Green.”_ _

__“Oh.” Steve shuffled his foot. “Well, tastes can change.”_ _

__Bucky said nothing. There was nothing to be said, not about this, at least. So he didn’t say anything. He shut his mouth. No words, no sounds. Just quietness._ _

__And he was running out of synonyms for this moment of non-speech, and that was problematic, because that was when the thinking started to kick in, an _fuck_ , what he wouldn’t give to think about absolutely nothing just about now._ _

__“I think I need to get some fresh air.”_ _

__Steve didn’t say anything for a while, just crossed his arms over his chest. Then he took a controlled breath. “Don’t think you can, Buck.”_ _

__An alarm bell started to ring in the back of his head. “What?”_ _

__“You get why, right?” Steve almost looked guilty. “We can’t let you out.”_ _

__The alarm bells grew louder, but Bucky just laughed. Humorlessly. “I don’t get anything at the moment, Steve. That part of my brain is shut down, not operational.” His voice started to get shaky. “My mind is stuck on the child that I murdered and whether Becca is going to be alright if I don’t show up to pick her up this afternoon. And the laundry in the machine is going to stink if I don’t turn the dryer on. That’s it, memory’s full.”_ _

__Now his flesh hand was shaky too, and he was pretty sure he was breathing wrong, but Steve, for his part, barely reacted._ _

__“Bucky,” he eventually said. “Sit down.”_ _

__“Fuck off.”_ _

__“No, really. Sit down.”_ _

__Bucky did his best impression of a smile. “No, _really_ , fuck off.”_ _

__Steve breathed three times, and just looked at him._ _

__Then, he huffed a bit, almost a laugh. “That look used to work a lot better on you.”_ _

__“Yeah, well.” Bucky’s tongue tasted bitter. “People change.”_ _

__There was no reply, so Bucky started pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until finally -_ _

__“We can’t let you out, because in the eyes of several intelligence agencies, you’re a threat that needs to be taken down or locked up somewhere far, far away.”_ _

__Bucky’s mouth felt dry. “Guantanamo Bay?”_ _

__Steve’s neck clicked appallingly as he twisted his head. “I’ve heard that one fall, yeah.”_ _

__“Right.” Bucky felt like he had finally landed in that good old stage of wanting to cry, but being far from capable to. Slowly, he walked over to the chairs where Steve was sitting, and sat himself down again. “Y’know what, I know it sounds rude, but I really wish I hadn’t met you last Thursday down Fresh Meadow Lane.”_ _

__The smile Steve offered was a nice attempt, but Bucky had never seen sadder eyes. “Yeah, Buck, I know.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sensitive materials:
> 
> Bucky is confronted with footage of himself as the Winter Soldier. In one of the videos, he sees himself decapitate a child, which kind of fucks him up.


End file.
